


Last Resort

by Toki_Blade



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Prostitution, Roxy is the best mom, Underage Drinking, more mentions of than anything though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1430212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toki_Blade/pseuds/Toki_Blade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now you’re thinking about Rose again.</p>
<p>You have to stop.</p>
<p>If you think about Rose you’re going to cry and then you’ll lose this guy and his money and ruin your makeup.</p>
<p>You can’t think about Rose</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Resort

**Author's Note:**

> I keep having Mother!Roxy feels. Uuugh. I should be writing other things.  
> Instead I wrote this.  
> Also I feel like Dirk is terrible out of character but I can't bring myself to care.

You’re trying not to cry.

You’re trying really, _really_ , hard not to cry.

You sniff then promptly curse yourself.

_No_ , fuck. You’d spent way too much time and money on this cheap-ass makeup and you are not going to ruin it by crying.

Get ahold of yourself, Lalonde. Just suck it up and _do it_.

You need the money, you don’t have that second job anymore, remember?

You need the money,

You can do this.

You.

Can.

Do.

This.

You got this. It is in the bag.

Just gotta do it a few times until you’re back on your feet- nobody has to know. You gotta take care of Rosie, you gotta-

fuck.

Rosie.

You almost start crying again.

No.

Fuck that.

You are _not_ crying. 

You take one last sniff and rub furiously at your nose with the back of your hand. It’s fine. It’s nothing. It’s cool.

You blink rapidly a few times.

It’s good.

“Hey.”

The voice makes you jump. You aren’t expecting it and now you’re frozen. Frozen on this godforsaken corner under some shitty flickering street lamp.

You aren’t ready for this. You didn’t drink _nearly_ enough, _fuck_.

But it is what it is.

You swallow, breath out, and smile.

It’s good.

You turn.

He’s tall, got these ridiculous sunglasses on and this wildass hair to match.

White polo, black pants. He reeks of boos, but then again, so do you.

You offhandedly wonder if he came from one of the nearby bars (you’d chosen this spot specifically for that reason) or if he came looking for this type of thing specifically.

Doesn’t matter.

You beam up at him and giggle. “Well hey yourself. What’s a cool guy like you doing way out here? Lookin’ for some fun?”

God, you pray that it doesn’t sound like you rehearsed those lines for the past few hours.

He doesn’t respond and his outward appearance doesn’t seem to change at all (he might purse his lips a little more but you’re not entirely sure).

You take a few steps forward and bend over slightly at an angle that you know makes your boobs more prominent.

God you hate breasts.

Just lumpy, jiggly, hunks of fat. Like what good are they except for feeding babies?

Fuck, now you’re thinking about Rose again.

You have to stop.

If you think about Rose you’re going to cry and then you’ll lose this guy and his money and ruin your makeup.

You can’t think about Rose.

“What’dya say? Wanna go somewhere more fun?” Fuck, you just said ‘fun’ twice, was that weird? Did that sound rehearsed?

Fuck fuck fuck.

He’s just staring down at you though, not saying anything.

You’re not sure if this is how it usually goes. Maybe he just wants to go into some- some back alley and do a quickie. 

Or maybe even just wants a blow job.

Fuck, you could give the best blow job of your life (have you ever even _given_ a blow job? Not sober at least) if it didn’t mean-

if it didn’t mean-

Fuck.

Whatever.

Doesn’t even matter.

As long as he pays and you use- protection (fuck what if he doesn’t want to?) you should be fine.

You’ll be fine.

You’re breathing catches.

Fuck.

You’re biting at the inside of your lip and trying not to let your smile waver- trying not to cry- and he still isn’t saying anything.

Fuck.

Eventually he shifts from one leg to the other and crosses his arm.

Why does he gotta be so stoic?

And then he’s opening his mouth (fuckfuckfuck this is it he’s gonna tell you what he wants and you’re gonna do it like the whore you are dirty little slut you’re so useless can’t even hold a job can’t even take care of yourself nevertheless a _child_ fuck why are you so _stupid_ -) “I don’t know if it’s any of my business,” he says, and what? “But if you’re having some sort of life crisis, I really don’t think this is the way you should be solving it.”

Your mind his slowed to a stop and you’re not really processing anything anymore. “What?” You ask, and you probably sound like some dumb, drunk blonde.

And then you remember that you _are_ some dumb drunk blonde.

Go you.

He shifts again. “Like, if you need money or something I’ll give you some to help out or whatever- get my good deed in for the day or some shit- but like; this isn’t a good thing, kid. I’ve known some people who’ve had to go down this road- trust me, it’s not a pleasant thing. They got mixed into some really bad shit. I’m sure you’re thinking ‘oh, I’m just going to do it a few time, that’s fine’- but it’s _not_. It’s _never_ ‘just a few times’. It’ll always be nagging you in the back of your head of how _easy_ it was and it’s just some quick cash so maybe a few times here or there and then you lose your job and then you’re dependent on it and-” He appears to notice that he’s been rambling and tapers off. 

He swallows. “It’s not good. And I mean, you look like a-” he pauses as he actually looks you over (short skirt, revealing tank top, _fuck_ you’re cold) “-nice kid. I just- thought I’d give you a fair warning of what you’re getting yourself into. Some people don’t know that pleasure. Whatever, later-”

“I’m twenty.” You say, because he’s kind of talking a lot and you’re kind of drunk and the major thing that sticks out to you is that he keeps calling you ‘kid’, which you’re not.

He stares at you and goes “huh?”

You roll your eyes (but fuck you’re still shaking), “I’m twenty- almost twenty one. I’m not a kid. Well I mean, I _have_ a kid, but I don’t really think that counts? 'Cuz like, you have a kid that means you’re a parent and parents are kind of adults? Though, there are some girls that get knocked up at like, fourteen, so there’s that. I mean, at least I had the decency to wait until I was like, seventeen to get the baby bug. God, how fucking considerate of me.”

He’s kind of just staring at you now.

“Also I already lost my job. Well, my second job. They’re making some bullshit cuts and apparently I’m not good enough to keep on. The other one’s decent enough but I mean, there is no way I am making rent this month. Not even if we don’t eat or nuthin’.”

He seems to have gathered himself by now. “So, what. This is your last resort sort of thing? You don’t think you have other options? You _always_ have other choices.”

You bark out a bitter laugh (and fuck you can’t stop shaking) “Like _what_? 'Cuz I mean, I thought about selling my embryos, but I don’t exactly know how to get into that, but if you know, tell me dude, 'cuz I am all ears.” He opens his mouth again but you beat him to the punch, “And if you’re gonna say something _stupid_ like maybe I shouldn’t be a parent and that Rosie would be ‘better in a different and more stable environment’ then you can ram this shit street lamp up your _ass_ dude, 'cuz that ain’t happening. She’s all I got and if I lose her then I lose me too.”

He’s quiet, just staring down at you.

Then he reaches forward and you jerk back, almost falling.

He holds his hand out for a minute more before reaching forward again, more slowly this time. He brushes your cheek with his hand, and you cringe just slightly, and then he’s running his thumb under your eye and what-

fuck.

You’re crying.

“Shit!” You exclaim, and jerk back again, leaving his arm to hang in the air. “Fuck.” You run the back of your fingers under your eyes trying to get the makeup to stop running. When your hands come back black you curse again, wiping at your eyes while trying not to rub at them. “ _God_ , shit. Sorry, I didn’t- _fuck_ I’m so fucking useless- can’t even stop crying. You’re fucking right I _am_ a child, _shit_.”

“Hey,” he says, “hey, hey, no. Stop that.” And he’s grabbing your wrists and pulling your hands from your face, “you’re just making it worse.”

You sniff, loud and unattractive, “Gee, thanks.”

You think he almost cracks a smile.

His face goes stoic again and you think he might almost look awkward, “Do you wanna- I mean- do you wanna come back to my place?”

You sniff again and shift (but he’s still holding your arms) “Uh, isn’t that what you _didn’t_ want me to do? Little counter productive, isn’t it?”

His mouth opens then closes.

“Woah,” he says, and you have never seen a man backpedal so fast in your life. “ _No_ , not like- I have a bathroom you could use, wash up or something, get a drink of water, uh, _call_ someone if you need. I’m not- not that you’re not- I’m gay.”

And now you’re squinging up at him. “Really? You sure? You don’t really _look_ gay.”

You’re pretty sure he rolls his eyes. “Oh, what. Now gays have to have a standard look? Sorry I don’t fit in your stereotype kid, I’ll get right on that. I’ll dye my hair pink and flaunt my excessive love for MLP right away.”

You grin (and it’s the first real smile you’ve had in a while), “Naw, I take that back. You are totes gay. The gayest.”

He chuckles, “Woah, thanks for your approval. I can now go on with life knowing that you think I look like a real gay. I was really worried there for a minute.”

“I’ll bet. All gays need the approval of their bimbo blonde friend, without us where would you be?”

“Not here.” He says, and you bite at your cheek again. “But hey- my invitation is still open if you need a place to stay for the night or something.”

And it’s actually really tempting, but you shake your head.

“I gotta get back to my kid. Neighbor’s watching her but I don’t wanna put ‘em out for too long.”

And now you’re thinking about your downstairs neighbor Ms. Maryam and how nice she is and how she’s always making you things and watching Rose and not even wanting anything in return.

How Rose is waiting there for you and you don’t even know if she’s trying to wait up (tried it’s almost one) or if she went to bed without another thought because you’re gone so much these days that it doesn’t really matter. 

He nods, “Rosie, right?”

“Rose,” you correct, smiling fondly, “she gets mad when I call her Rosie but I do it anyways.”

He appears to remember your wrists and lets go, shoving his hands deep into his pants pockets. “I got a kid.” He says, and you peer up at him.

“Really? What happened to you being gay?”

He scoffs, “he’s my kid brother. Parents aren’t really around anymore.”

And you don’t ask about it, (mainly because you hate it when people ask about Rose and also because if he wants to talk about it he will but it’s not like you guys are friends) “What’s his name?”

“Dave,” he says, “he’s almost four.”

And then your lips are cracking from your wide smile, “Rosie too! She’ll be four in December. I’m super excited, she wants a cat so I’m trying to talk the superintendent into letting us get one- assuming I get another job by then.”

And he’s actually smiling now, “Dave too.”

You’re eyes bug out, “No _way_! Dude, that is totes awesome! We should celebrate together. I mean if you’re up for that. Rosie doesn’t really have any friends besides Ms. Maryam but she’s like, fifty, so I don’t think that counts. I mean, I’d send her to daycare but I can’t really, you know, _afford_ that, but I think it’s good. Rose is _super_ smart for her age too! She already knows the alphabet and we’re working on numbers now; she’s gonna be the smartest kid at school I just know it.”

He sucks in a breath, and fuck did you say something wrong? “Us,” he says, then has to clear his throat, “us too. Dave doesn’t really, do daycare. Too expensive. I’m uh, really looking forward to free and reduced lunches.”

“ _Dude_ ,” you say, “right? Like how great will that be? I mean, it’s one thing for me to skip lunch, but I really hate it when Rosie just has to have a snack or something because I don’t even have any bread because payday isn’t until-”

“Friday.” He says, “every other week.”

You groan, “yeah, right? Like how stupid is that. Like sure I can handle my money well but sometimes every week pay would be super nice.”

He’s just staring down at you now. No expression anymore.

You rock on your heels, and when the silence stretches for more than a few minutes you clear your throat. “I should probably like, head back. It’s uh, super late.”

“Right, yeah.” He takes his hands out of his pockets just to put them back in. “Do you- do you want me to walk you? It’s kind of late, and you’re kind of-” he gestures to you.

“Dressed like a slut?” You ask, and when he nods you laugh. “That was kind of the point. But sure, that would be so nice. Such a gentleman.”

“The gently-est.” 

“S’long as you're not an axe murderer that is.”

“Damn. There go my plans for the night.”

You smile up at him, “Then I think I’ll take up on your offer Mr. Not An Axe Murderer.”

He gestures for you to lead the way and falls in step when you stop walking. “Why is it always axe murderer?”

You shrug and shift your weight side to side as you shimmy off your shoes, your feet are killing you. “What else would it be?”

“I dunno, couldn’t there be a nice marionette killer?”

“Ah,” you say, “but would they kill _with_ marionettes, or kill _marionettes_?”

He gives a noncommittal grunt, “why couldn’t they kill people and then turn them into marionettes?”

“Now you’re thinking outside of the box!” You’re trying to walk on the line in the cement but it’s a little hard with the buzz you’ve got going on. “‘M always tellin’ Rosie that she needs to think outside of the box, gotta think bigger and better than anyone else.”

Your companion has grown quiet, and you spare him a glance and stumble with your footing enough that he reaches out to steady you.

“What if she doesn’t though?” He asks when you’re back upright. You glance sideways at him.

“What d’you mean? Doesn’t what?”

“Think outside of the box. What if she sucks at school, has a mediocre life and makes nothing of herself. What then.”

You shrug because you hadn’t really thought about it because you’d always just _known_ that Rose was the best. “It’ll be fine, I know she can do it. I mean- look at how smart she is already, if I don’t fudge up as a parent I think she’ll be amazing.”

“But what if she _isn’t_?”

And now you’ve stopped walking and you’re staring up at him like he’s crazy.

“My Rosie can do anything she sets her mind to.”

He presses his lips together and huffs out his nose. “But what if she doesn’t _want_ to do anything. Doesn’t want to get good grades, doesn’t want to be exciting. What if she’s just one of the boring masses. Would you still love her?”

You open your mouth and close it a few times, “What the fuck kind of question is that?” He seems slightly taken aback. “Of course I’d still love her, she’s my kid. Sure I’ll be a little sad that she didn’t bother making something of herself, but I mean, that’s her choice. I mean, that’s actually probably more likely because look who she has as a role model. I’m pretty boring and monotonous. I’ll get freakin’ _pissed_ if she gets knocked up before she’s out of high school of has a stable relationship but I mean, she’s still my kid dude. I’ll still love her or whatever.”

He licks his lips and turns to continue walking, but he doesn’t know where you’re going so he has to stop after a few steps and turn back to look at you.

He’s uncomfortable. Mr. Stoic is uncomfortable and doesn’t know what to say.

He ends up with: “You’re not boring.”

You scoff at him and finally start walking again, passing him. “Fuck yeah I am. Haven’t had a friend since I was sixteen and I spend all my time either working or taking care of my kid. Not that I’m complaining or anything, but last time I checked that wasn’t the definition of ‘exciting’.”

He walks at a slower pass then you, just a few feet behind now. “Well if that’s what we’re going by then I guess I’m pretty anti-exciting myself.”

You don’t respond.

You’re almost home, just another block down and you’ll be good. You wonder if he’ll leave you at the door or want to walk you all the way to your apartment door.

You wonder if he wants to meet Rosie.

You wonder if you’d let him.

“What about you?” You ask as you can see the building growing closer, “Would you stop loving your kid if all he did was get an office job and a boring life?”

“Fuck no.” He says automatically, and when you glance back at him giving him a knowing look he has the decency to look sheepish. “I’d be a little disappointed, but I mean- it’s his life.” He groans at your look, “Right, fine, sorry. I get it.”

You hum to yourself, and you think he probably rolls his eyes.

You stop when you reach the steps and he walks a few more steps before glancing at you then turning to look up at your apartment building. He lets out a low whistle, “Nice.”

You shrug, “Not really, I mean it works or whatever, and rent is decent if you have the right job, but it’s still pretty rundown.”

“Better than my place,” he says, and then you’re quiet again. Staring at each other.

“I should probably-”

“Do you wanna-”

You both start speaking at the same time and both cut off abruptly.

“Sorry,” you say, “what?”

He shakes his head, “No it’s fine. What were you saying?”

But suddenly you’re awkward and nervous and a fourteen year old girl again on her first date wondering if her boyfriend wants to come in and ‘meet the family’ but is wondering if that’s going to fast.

(Which it is because it’s the first date and he shouldn't even be her boyfriend yet and they’re _fourteen_ for crying out loud.)

“I just- wanted to know if you wanted to come up and maybe meet Rosie. I mean- you don’t have to, sorry. It was stupid, I’ll just-”

“Sure.” You honestly didn’t think he would. That he’d get a little awkward and let you down and then leave quickly to get away from that weird blonde girl who was trying to sell her body on the street for money like some floozy and never want to talk to you again.

“Oh.” you say, “uh, okay.”

You fiddle to get your key out of your shoe, and work on unlocking the door.

“If you don’t want me to, that’s fine I’ll just-”

“No! No, I uh, _want_ you to, I just didn’t think that _you_ would want to. Um, sorry. Come on in.” you get the key to work and hold the door open for him.

He chuckles as he walks in, “now who’s the man in this relationship?”

You jab him in the ribs with your elbow, “well seeing as you’re gay I guess it’ll have to be me.”

You take the stairs.

You live on the sixth floor, but you have to get Rose who’s down on the fifth floor, probably sleeping on Ms. Maryam’s couch. 

You shoot him a smile as you knock on her door. It takes a few minutes and you realize that she was probably asleep and now you feel bad. She smiles down at you though. “Hello hun, you were out awfully late. Would you like me to get Rose for you?” 

“Yeah,” you say, “sorry about the time, but that’d be great. Thanks so much for watching her.”

Ms. Maryam waves her hand, “No problem dear, any time. You know I love having her around.”

Her eyes flicker to your friend.

Is he even your friend?

You glance back at him and then turn to give her a smile, “Sorry, this is my friend,” shoot you don’t know his name. You stumble awkwardly over where you would have placed a name, “he decided to walk me home because it was so late.”

And then Ms. Maryam is all smiles again and looking him up and down, “Well it’s very nice to meet you young man, ‘bout time this girl brought a man around. You can call me Ms. Maryam.” She holds out her hand and he takes it.

“Dirk Strider. Nice to meet you.” And woah, now you know his name. (Also woah, he’s like super polite, weird.)

Ms. Maryam sends you another smile before receding back into her apartment to retrieve Rose.

She’s invited you in a few times but you’ve always felt uncomfortable and intrusive (even though she insisted that you weren't.). Adults make you a little uncomfortable. 

People make you a little uncomfortable.

Sadly you are both.

She comes back carrying what resembles a limp noodle of a rag doll.

Rosie.

Your Rosie.

Your daughter.

You smile and Ms. Maryam transfers the girl to your arms. 

She’s getting heavier and you have to adjust her in your arms so that she doesn't fall.

You thank Ms. Maryam again (and Dirk says how nice it was to meet her like woah, manners) and you head back for the stairwell.

Rose comes to when you reach your floor, mumbling and shifting in your arms. 

“Mom?” She asks, and wraps her arms around your neck before you even answer.

“Hey baby, did you have a nice night?”

She hums and Dirk is giving you a weird look. “We played games. I tried waiting up.”

Your heart seems to stab at your chest. She _did_ wait up. You don’t know if you want to cry for neglecting her so much or cry because she still likes you.

“Yeah,” you say, and your voice is choked and woah Dirk is right there this is super embarrassing. “Sorry I was so late sweetie.”

She shrugs, or at least tries to, and burrower her way further into you, “‘S’kay.”

You get your key out again and shimmy open the door, Dirk looks like he might want to offer to help but ultimately doesn’t, which is fine. You probably wouldn’t accept it.

You get in and flick on the light and Dirk looks so awkward and out of place. 

Rose stirs again when the door closes and yawns.

She blinks sleepily at the strange man in her house and glances up at you. “Who’s that?”

“That’s Dirk,” you say, “he’s a new friend of mine.”

And Rose, the sweetheart that she is, unearths her hand from it’s place between your bodies and holds it out to him. “S’nice to meet you.”

He looks honest to god taken aback.

When he takes her hand the comparison shocks you even though you should be expecting it. His hands are large, calloused- her small and soft.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.”

You put her to bed after that and offer to make Dirk a cup of coffee because it’s about the only beverage besides water and vodka that you own.

He declines and says he should probably get back home to his own kid- and dare you say he even looks wistful.

“Tell Davey ‘hi’ for me.” You say, and he rolls his eyes.

“Like he’d even know who I was talking about. ‘Oh hey Dave, how was your night? By the way this random chick I met says hi’.”

“Not just any random chick, though. The best random chick you’ll ever meet in your life!”

“Yeah, who’s name I don’t even know and who also shares an uncanny amount of life experiences with me.”

You blink up at him, eyes wide, “I never told you my name.”

“To be fair I never told you mine, but I assume you picked it up already.”

You puff up your chest and hold out your hand, “I’m Roxy Lalonde, it’s nice to meet you.”

You think he almost smiles. “Dirk Strider, pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

His hand is so much bigger than your’s, he’s so much taller.

You smile up at him. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah,” he says, but before he can turn around you yell out a ‘wait!’ and rush back into the kitchen.

You come back out and snatch his hand again, “Roxy, what-” but you shoosh him and scribble across the back of his hand.

“You should call me.” you say, “we should- hang out? I’d love to meet Dave. And we should totes do the Birthday thing.”

He clenches and unclenches his hand a few times, then lowers it unceremoniously. He nods, “I’ll call you.”

“Later, Dirk.” Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much tonight.

He holds up a hand, “Later.”

And then he’s gone.

You have a dreadful feeling that he’s not going to call, but you really hope he does.

****  
  


And he does.


End file.
